De Re Coquinaria Bellorum Stellarum
by Madame Mermaid
Summary: "The Unofficial 'Star Wars - The Clone Wars' Cookbook". A series of unconnected one-shots related to cooking, baking, eating and Star Wars, each chapter containing the corresponding recipe to the dish mentioned in the story. Characters and themes vary from chapter to chapter. Chapter 2: Senator Riyo Chuchi spends her first Pantoran New Year's Eve on Coruscant.
1. Chapter 1 - Felix Dies Natalis Sit Tibi!

**De Re Coquinaria Bellorum Stellarum - The Unofficial 'Star Wars – The Clone Wars' Cookbook**

**Chapter 1 – Felix Dies Natalis Sit Tibi!**

"Okay, Ping, let's do this. It says here to give a cup of margarine into a large mixing bowl and beat until fluffy. Alright – we've got the margarine. Let's see if we can find something that constitutes as a 'large mixing bowl'."

The bipedal servant droid beeped in agreement and started trotting towards the large cabinets lining one wall of the rather spacious senatorial kitchen. Opening cabinet door after cabinet door, the child-sized droid began pulling out pots and pans in various sizes, arranging them on the pristine kitchen floor all around its rounded, blue metal torso, while Ahsoka was still re-reading the first steps of the instructions given on her datapad. She only glanced up when a deep clonging noise reached her ears as Ping set a rather large, heavy skillet down with more force than was probably necessary.

_Oh. Ups. Administrative droid turned kitchen chef. Right. Senator Chuchi did warn me about that._

Once she'd noticed the problem, however, she moved to interfere with the droid's unbroken enthusiasm for pulling every concave item in stock out of the cupboards, stepping carefully around the sea of dishes to take another metal bowl from the small droid's pincers. Ping simply gave another one of his (at any rate the senator had referred to her filing droid, officially named PIN-888, in the masculine form) high-pitched beeps and turned back to the cabinet to pull another bowl like the one she was holding from somewhere in the back.

"Wait, wait! We won't need quite so many bowls – well, at least I don't think we will." Since this was her first time cooking anything more complicated than pre-packaged soup, she honestly wasn't sure. But the recipe hadn't said anything about multiple dishes, so it was probably best not to clear out the whole senatorial kitchen at once.

"This one", she knocked softly against the bowl, which gave a soft 'gong', "should do nicely. Put the rest of them back into the cupboards, and I'll get the the mixer."

She grinned at Ping's soft noise of disappointment, then started opening the drawers which the senator had told her held the different tools she might need, and rummaged around till she found what looked like a handheld mixer operated by energy cells. Pressing the start button on top of the contraption proved her right, as the spirals at the end of the machine started spinning at blinding speed, making her think of power drills rather than culinary tools.

_Okay... Let's hope this works. And preferably doesn't kill me first._

Senator Chuchi had graciously agreed to allow her the use of her kitchen – and her droid – for baking a cake for Barriss' lifeday tomorrow. Ever since surviving both nearly suffocating in the tank under the destroyed droid plant and nearly freezing after being infested with brain worms (she really didn't want to think closer about that aspect of their mission – the near death experiences had been more than enough to come to terms with), the Mirialan padawan and Ahsoka had become fast friends, long separations and differing personalities notwithstanding. So it was only natural that Ahsoka, after she'd yesterday belatedly learned the occasion for Barriss' free afternoon tomorrow and her suggestion to spend that time together, had decided to commemorate her friend's 17th lifeday by giving her a present. Jedi might not call many material possessions their own or place a great value in any of them; yet she felt that she wanted to give something to the girl who'd turned into one of her best friends so quickly and under such unexpected circumstances. Which she had then determined would be a cake, for abstinence and abjection notwithstanding, everybody ought to have had a lifeday cake at least a few times in their lives. Even Jedi.

Plus, it was a manageable present. Personal, nice, not very expensive nor complicated. For how difficult could it be to produce a simple dish of sweet pastry, despite her lack of experience? Even if she had to do so on short notice, and without Barriss learning about it? No worse than fighting Seppies and droids on the battlefield on a daily basis, for sure.

It turned out to be a lot harder than she'd anticipated.

First there was the problem of finding a suitable cake to prepare within two days' notice and little to no knowledge of what she was doing. She'd considered making the one she'd had on her tenth lifeday when she was still living in the nurseries, a multi-coloured concoction decorated with cream and various fruit sauces, but after taking a closer look at the recipe she'd found in the archives, she'd decided it might be a bit too ambitious an effort to choose for her first forays into the realm of baking. Asking Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi also hadn't been helpful, for it seemed that her Master had always wished for savory rather than sweet dishes for his lifedays, and Master Kenobi had told her in a conspiratorial whisper that he'd always either referred his padawan's ideas to the temple kitchen or ordered something from one of the many restaurants close to the temple. He'd suggested that maybe she could do the same, since it would be easier than baking a cake herself, but she'd felt it wouldn't be the right thing to do, lacking the personal touch she was looking for.

She'd tried asking the droids in the archives for help and searching through the cookbooks on file there, but not really knowing what she was looking for, that hadn't proven very fruitful. Master Nu would probably have been able to help her, but the head librarian cut a rather stern figure, and she would have felt ridiculous asking the grey-haired lady for a recipe when Master Nu surely had more important things to do. Researching background information for missions, for example. Or teaching younglings. Or protecting the holocrons. Whatever it was that head librarians did.

She'd ended up explaining her conundrum to Captain Rex, who'd raised an eyebrow at her rather strange request for a baking recipe, and kept looking at her that way until she'd given her reason for searching for something like that as well. It wasn't something she'd been quite sure how to word, since the clones didn't celebrate their lifedays, and maybe it would be offensive to ask them about lifeday presents? Fortunately, the opposite seemed to be the case: Rex might not precisely have a lifeday himself, but, so he told her, he could relate to the notion of celebrating it, and to her wish to give something personal to her friend. An outward symbol of inward closeness, comparable in a way to the connection the clones shared with their brothers. Perfectly understandable. Which it was. It also made her decide that she'd have to remember thinking about the clones' lack of lifedays once she was done preparing Barriss' present; it seemed unfair that they shouldn't get to celebrate the turning of the years, the continued existence of their brothers and friends. Maybe there was a way of having something like a surrogate lifeday once every year? Or another occasion to be celebrated instead? She'd have to ponder that question again once she had the time...

That settled, the problem remained that Rex also wasn't exactly an expert on confectionery. There was the Corellian tradition of having Ryshcate on especially joyful occasions, of course, but the cake took a long time to prepare and a lot of the ingredients were rather costly, so it wasn't really an ideal choice. In the end they'd asked Echo for help, after another search of the holonet had yielded only dubious results. Echo, who quite possibly remembered everything, or at least knew where he'd read something about it, had finally come up with a recipe for a confection called marble cake, a sweet pastry baked in the shape of a ring, which used easily obtainable ingredients and looked easy enough to make.

As was the way of difficulties, they didn't end at that point.

Next to consider was the question of how to get those ingredients, common though they might be, and where to finally make the cake. Her master's suit of rooms she didn't even think about, since his repertoire of kitchen tools was limited to one pan (for frying eggs), one pot (for heating up cans of pre-cooked food), a few plates and some pieces of cutlery (duh), and a caf maker (which was the one thing which was used with frightening regularity whenever he was staying at the temple). The temple kitchen was also out of the question, since Barriss could step in there at any given time for some reason or other, unlikely though that may be, and since it was too crowded at all times, anyway. She couldn't very well board a shuttle and return to the _Resolute_ for the endeavor, not to mention that Cookie would skin her alive if she dared set foot into his galley, commanding officer or not.

In the end Master Skywalker had suggested she ask Senator Amidala for help, who had the space and probably also the ingredients to aid her on her cake-baking mission. As such things went, it was a good idea, but the senator turned out to have a full schedule today meeting dignitaries from planets allied with the neutral systems, and needed all her assistants and C3PO to aid her. While Senator Amidala would usually simply have thrown open the doors of her kitchen to the padawan and left her to her own devices, she had discouraged Ahsoka's suggestion that she do so today, since Representative Bings was to go through some files in the senator's home office and was sure to wander into the kitchen at one point or another. Which might not be all that helpful if Ahsoka was planning on having a presentable cake to give to Barriss by the end of the day, for friendly though the Gungan may be, he was also an established fool when tasked with things requiring a certain amount of fine-motor skills. So it was probably not the safest of plans to have him join Ahsoka on her first forages into baking – one raw recruit was enough to mess up, after all; two would be headed for disaster.

Thus her remaining options had seemed rather small, until Senator Amidala had proposed that Ahsoka ask Senator Chuchi for help. The padawan and the Pantoran senator had met on a few occasions and gotten to know each other rather well; certainly the senator wouldn't mind if Ahsoka occupied her kitchen for an afternoon? As it turned out, she didn't mind, and had instead told Ahsoka to send her the recipe so she could make sure all the ingredients were in store by the time the Togruta arrived. Senator Chuchi had also seen to it that her assistant installed some rudimentary files on cooking and baking on Ping, the secretary droid, so that Ahsoka would have some help, since Senator Chuchi had to hold a conference call with some members of the Pantoran Assembly in the afternoon. But she'd shown Ahsoka into the kitchen and explained to her where to find whatever she might need, plus told her to simply come to her office – _second door to the right down the hall once you've crossed the main room_ – if she hit any trouble. Or if Ping was proving to be more hindrance than help, as a matter of fact.

Ahsoka smiled at the memory of the last statement, said in the wry, humorous tone of someone suffering from long experience. The senator had seemed rather fond of the droid, limited abilities beyond administration notwithstanding. A bit like Senator Amidala's treatment of C3PO, though Ping's programming seemed more akin to the personality of a faithful errand boy than an old nanny, lively rather than pessimistic. _And perhaps a bit misguided in his actions, though not his intentions_, she added as she watched the droid put away the last pan.

When the droid finally turned back around to her, she nodded toward the metal bowl to indicate that he was to bring it to the table, while she busied herself with opening the margarine tub. "Now let's... Oh – we still need the measuring cup. Any idea where Senator Chuchi keeps her mugs, Ping? Don't get it, just show me!", she added, when the animal shaped machine started waddling towards the cabinets again. Ping's left ear pointed at one of the upper cupboards above the worktop, which Ahsoka opened only to find an array of different glasses, cups and mugs on the upper shelves way out of her reach. Now she understood why the senator kept a small stepping stool in the corner beside the door – the wall units in this kitchen had obviously been designed for taller persons than petite Pantoran ladies and padawans not fully grown yet. Stepping onto the ladder, she took a closer look at the assortment of dishes hidden in the cabinet.

_Okay... So which one of these am I supposed to use?_

"Ping?" A blurry, questioning symphony answered her.

"Does the recipe say anything about the size of the cup?" Another blubbery melody, which she took to be a request for clarification.

"I don't know – gallons, or the planetary standard used in the recipe... whatever." She turned on her post to face the droid, who was scanning the datapad she'd brought before giving a negative noise that sounded like a sigh. He held up the pad to indicate Ahsoka could look for herself if she wanted to, but she just shook her head – whatever else might be true, she was pretty certain Ping knew how to scan a document for relevant information. Turning back to the cabinet, she carefully began sorting through the different dishes on the shelves, trying to think logically about what cup might normally be used for baking.

_Mhm..._ She didn't really believe that the elegant caf set on the uppermost shelf, which was aligned so orderly that she doubted it had ever been used before, was the right measure to be employed here. Also out were glasses and tea bowls, since the recipe explicitly stated she should be searching for a cup. The two delicate, white porcelain mugs on the lowest shelf she didn't even touch, for though they must be taken out regularly, judging by their placing in the cabinet, they certainly looked too beautiful and breakable to be misused in something as mundane as baking. What remained then was an assortment of mugs in all shapes and sizes, through which she rummaged until coming up with a few rather large metal cups like the ones that were given out in the mess hall on the Resolute. Deciding that this had to be a rather standard measure if it was being mass-produced for an army of millions, she grabbed one of these, climbed down from the step stool and returned to Ping and the task at hand.

Ping hovered around her as she filled the cup to the brim with margarine and then spooned the fat into the mixing bowl, peering curiously into the gleaming metal dish as she cleaned her hands before taking up the mixer.

"Uhm, Ping, you might want to take a step back if you don't want to end up cleaning margarine off your photo receptors." Which didn't really help all that much, for even though the droid anxiously waddled to the other side of the table, some spatters of fat still landed on his metal hull when the mixer ricocheted off the metal bowl at Ahsoka's first attempt. In the end, quite a few small dashes of margarine rained onto the table and them both until she decided the substance in the bowl might be considered 'fluffy', as the recipe had said.

Ahsoka exhaled in relief; that machine was a lot harder to hold still than she'd originally thought. Or maybe she simply needed to practice handling kitchen tools more often. She took a glance at the recipe, and sighed when she read the rest of the first bulled point again. "Right... Forgot about that part... Add a ¾ cup of sugar, three drops of vanilla essence and six drops of rum essence – do you know what that is, Ping? No? Well, I don't, either; let's hope Senator Chuchi has something labeled like it. You get the sugar, and I'll go and see if I can find those other ingredients somewhere."

Opening various cupboards, drawers and boxes finally got her what she was looking for: An array of small glass bottles, hidden in a box and labeled in fine-print, turned out to hold the flavours mentioned in the recipe, as well as various other tastes. Once she'd twisted off the cap of the one denominated 'Finest Liquid Vanilla Essence", the heady, sweet aroma of the spice immediately filled the room._ I'd better not get any of that on my fingers, or I'll be smelling like a pastry shop for a week... _She could already hear the comments asking her if she'd taken a bath in vanilla syrup. Or alcohol, for that matter, judging from the stench that hit her when she'd firmly shut the first vial and opened the second one. Definitely something to be avoided. Thus she tried to handle the open bottle as carefully as possible, watching out of the corner of her eyes as Ping came over to the table, a large, opaque tin containing something white and grainy held securely between his pincers.

_...Two...Three..._

"You can take a cup and measure out ¾ of sugar, if you want to."

…_Four...Five...Six..._

She set the bottle down on the table, securely replaced the cap and put it back to the other vials in the box, returning it to the cupboard that seemed to be the storing place for all of Senator Chuchi's baking supplies. Back at the table, she found that Ping had indeed measured out a ¾ cup of sugar – using the metal mug she'd already employed for the margarine. Oh. Well. Just now he was dumping the fine grained white crystals into the bowl, and she arrived just in time to keep her helpmate from taking up the mixer to start blending. "Sorry, Ping, but I'd be more comfortable doing this myself." She smiled at the droid, who gave a low beep of disappointment. "Besides, you wouldn't want to ruin that shiny blue paint any more than you already have, would you? And I think this is going to be rather messy, don't you agree?"

He didn't, if the repeat of his ow whistle was any indication. Ahsoka sighed, then took another look at the recipe. "You know what? You can get the eggs we'll need in the next step. Five medium-sized nuna eggs – they should be in the cooling unit."

And with another smile at the droid, she once more concentrated on handling Senator Chuchi's monster of a mixer, first trying to at least somewhat fold the sugar into the fat before beginning to blend the mixture to a smooth cream. At least this time the spatters were noticeably fewer and smaller, though she still had to look like a rather strange creature by now, tiny bits of fluffy whitish stuff scattered onto her face and clothing. By the end of the process, the mix in the bowl looked and smelled alright, despite the rather alcoholic aroma clouding her nose. That there was also a light, perfectly circular ring of margarine and sugar spatters on the table, surrounded by small heaps of sugar and margarine stains where she and Ping had done their measuring, she decided to ignore.

A wet cracking noise made her turn around instead – and curse lightly at the sight that greeted her by the open cooler. "Oh, holy Force, damn it!"

Ping was trying – to his credit, with the utmost care – to lift one egg after another from the door of the cooling unit – rather unsuccessfully, unfortunately. So far, he had one egg securely in the grasp of his left pincer, and was attempting to take out another with the right one – for the fourth or fifth time, by the look of all the egg shells and the yellowish mess spread out on his torso and by his feet. With a soft splattering sound another egg hit the floor just as she finally managed to overcome her stupor and moved into Ping's direction.

"Ping, stop! Stop it, wait!" The droid glanced up at her with his photo receptors, pincers already raised to reach for another egg. She held out her hands, palm outward, in a calming gesture, while slowly walking towards the sink to get a damp cloth to start cleaning up the mess on the floor. "Just stand still for a minute, Ping, okay? Don't move, don't reach for another egg, and don't drop the one you've already got in hand. I'll just – mop up the eggs, and then everything will be good as new. Well, more or less, at least."

The droid gave a rather meek sound of agreement, ears flopping downward, head hanging low. She sighed – Senator Amidala had been wrong. Working with Representative Bings might actually have been easier than this. _I'd better talk to Senator Chuchi after this – much as I like Ping, he really is proving more of a hindrance than a real help. Let's just hope she isn't holding that conference call anymore..._

Wiping up the eggs took longer than expected, especially after Ping, trying to help her by lifting a foot to give her better access to the puddle, stepped back into the mess, thereby covering himself with even more crushed egg and the floor with yellow footprints by trying to find a place not already smeared with goo. By the end of her cleaning expedition, her cloths were ready for the cleaner, Ping's torso still looked like someone had taken a notion to painting him with contrastive spots, and her cake was no closer to finishing than it had been twenty minutes ago. At least there were still more than enough nuna eggs left in the cooler to complete the confection, and another cake like it into the bargain.

Rising to her feet, Ahsoka first scrubbed her hands vigorously to get rid off any residue egg mess before turning back to the cooler with a sigh. "You can step away from there now, Ping. Thanks for keeping still for so long. Let's see if we can continue were we left off before I tell Senator Chuchi about this episode. Hand me that egg you're still holding, will you? Hand it to me, not throw it!", she repeated, when Ping made to move his pincer rather fast in her direction.

Gathering his and four other eggs from the cooler, she finally returned to the table, where at any rate the mixture of sugar, fat and flavours was still as it had been before Ping had decided to paint the kitchen floor yellow. _Alright_. _That's something._ She'd clean up the mess still left on the table later, once the cake was finally baking in the oven.

_Now add the eggs one at a time and blend each into the dough... _Egg in hand, she turned to the bowl and – stopped. _Wait... How does one break an egg without actually getting egg shells into the dough?_ She'd seen Master Skywalker do it quite a few times whenever they were back on Coruscant and he happened to feel like making breakfast, sometimes even on the slow days during missions. He simply took the egg in his left hand, slapped it hard against the rim of the bowl to crack it in half, opened the two halves, and let the egg fall into the bowl. Just like that. _It always looked so damn easy!_ But looking at the egg in her hand and the dough in front of her now, she decided it might be better to try that technique at a time when she wasn't putting her friend's lifeday present at risk. Senator Chuchi's supplies might be plenty, but they weren't endless, after all.

_Senator Chuchi..._

It might really be a good idea to talk to the Pantoran first. Tell her about the problem with Ping and the disaster that was her kitchen. _And ask her if she knows how to open an egg without smashing it to bits_. The absurdity of the thought made her grin as she brushed off her hands once more and made her way through the living room into the private tract of the senatorial suite. _I'm about to ask Lady Riyo Chuchi, Pantoran Senator of the Galactic Republic, to show me how to crack an egg for a simple lifeday cake_. She couldn't deny there was something ironic to the statement. Politics and statecraft seemed much more worthy subjects to question such a person about – but then again, Senator Chuchi had never given her the impression of being beyond baking or cleaning, the way a lot of other dignitaries were. More like Senator Amidala, though less given to taking an active part in the shooting.

There was still no denying a certain nervousness once she arrived at the second door to the right down the corridor. No noise came from beyond the dark wooden panel, though the part of her senses that intuitively felt another being's presence, that inexplicable instinct she'd been born with and that she shared with other Jedi, told her the senator was somewhere behind that door, probably sitting at her desk, if the layout of the room was similar to the usual design of office suites. Not giving herself time to hesitate any further, she knocked softly on the door, and was answered after a momentary wait by a polite "Come in, please!"

Stepping inside, she did indeed find the senator sitting behind a large wooden desk, still engaged in a holocall, though she seemed to be wrapping up the conversation at that very moment. "Very well. Then I'll talk to you in three days' time to discuss the further developments of the negotiations, Chairman."

The blue holo bust of a bearded Pantoran facing the senator, obviously the planet's new chairman, nodded in answer: "Indeed, Chuchi. Hopefully we'll be able to convince the Trade Federation to extend our debt on these conditions. A planetary crisis so shortly after the death of Lord Cho – I do not think that would go over well."

The senator had half raised the fingers of one hand to subtly acknowledge Ahsoka's, but other than that did nothing to show she had noticed her presence, focusing on the conversation instead. "Indeed it wouldn't, Chairman. I'll see to it that everything possible is done to keep that from happening. My assistant is already working on a solution as we speak; I'm sure she won't disappoint us."

The chairman chuckled lightly in response: "She never has so far, now has she? But you must return to your legislation papers, Chuchi, and I need to explain to the Assembly that our difficulties will hopefully be short-lived. Let us hope that we won't have to concern ourselves with these things anymore when I make my inaugural visit half a year from now. For the moment, I thank you for your time and effort, Senator. One day, Pantora will be most grateful to you for what you did, I'm sure." He nodded gravely, as if to underline that opinion.

The senator smiled self-deprecatingly. "You flatter, Chairman. It is I who should be saying my thanks. Please give my regards to your family – I hear your daughter has taken an interest in politics?"

"She has, indeed. You'll find her a most interesting conversationalist when you meet her the next time – even I nowadays sometimes have difficulties holding our against her when she's defending her stronger notions."

"Then I hope to see her in Athena soon. Until then, Chairman Papanoida..." Senator Chuchi straightened in her chair, subtly hinting towards the end of the conversation, but too polite to cut her political leader off abruptly.

Fortunately for her, the chairman seemed to understand the hint, and did not sound offended as he said his goodbyes. "Until then, Senator. Have a good evening on Coruscant – we'll speak again in three days' time."

"And a good day on Pantora to you, sir." Nodding politely, the senator finally ended the call and turned to her guest, standing to greet her and wave her into one of the chairs placed in front of her desk. "Ahsoka! I'm sorry it took me so long to finish up – politics is a rather long-winded matter, at least in terms of conversation lengths, I'm afraid. Can I help you with something?"

A part of her brain had listened in on the end of the call, trying to catalogue the information mentioned, but the larger part of her mind had been busy looking around the comfortable, warm room she'd stepped into, done mostly in shades of burgundy, purple and dark blue. Thus, Ahsoka shook her head somewhat confusedly at first, then nodded, then shook it again to clear her thoughts. She finally forced herself to settle into the plush armchair, hands resting on her knees, fidgeting slightly as she took in the woman in front of her. Senator Chuchi looked as delicately beautiful as ever, a friendly smile playing openly on her features.

_Nothing to worry about, Ahsoka... _

She finally found her voice again: "It's no problem, Senator, thanks. The waiting, I mean. Well, anyway... There is, however, a small matter regarding your kitchen, and... and I thought maybe you could help me with something."

There was an amused smile playing across the senator's lips as she answered, as if she was enjoying a private joke. Ahsoka belatedly realised she probably gave a rather bedraggled impression at the moment. "Certainly I can. Do you need something, or should I order Ping out of your way after all? I hope he hasn't been too much of a handful after all?"

Ahsoka shrugged; she wasn't about to disagree when the senator had named one of the issues so candidly. "Well, that's part of it actually, yeah. He... You see... We may have accidentally made a bit of a mess out of your kitchen. Or rather, a part of it. I mean, I've cleaned up the worst of it, but it might be a good idea to have a cleaning droid mop the floor again after we're gone. Just in case."

Watching her counterpart somewhat warily, she was relieved to see the senator's expression turn even more curious and amused rather than stern. Despite knowing Senator Chuchi rather well by now as a humorous person, she hadn't been sure how the Pantoran lady might react to the news. "What, pray tell, did you do? It can't have been that bad, Ahsoka – no need to look like you're about to confess to murder."

The thought of comparing her kitchen disaster to a capital crime finally made her crack up and grin. "Nothing like that, no. Just... Ping dropped half a dozen eggs onto the kitchen floor by accident and now – I cleaned it up, of course, at least the part that landed on the tiles", she hastily added, still not entirely sure how the senator was going to react, "but now Ping looks a bit like a striped and spotted blue egg, himself, and..."

She couldn't finish her sentence, for the senator finally did react to her explanation. Upon listening to her description of the administrative droid, Senator Chuchi started chuckling lowly, her laughs growing ever louder until she was hiccuping with laughter. "Oh, Ahsoka", she finally managed to say, having calmed down somewhat, "you should see your face! Sorry, but imagining Ping looking like..." The senator shook her head silently, trying to reign in her laughter, and rose from her chair. "That, I need to see!"

Shrugging, Ahsoka followed the lady of the house out of her office and into the kitchen, where the senator once more started chuckling in amusement upon seeing Ping still frozen in place, larger and smaller spots of egg white, egg yolk, margarine and floor dotting his once gleaming blue torso like paint. The droid gave a rather indignant, questioning sequence of beeps upon seeing his mistress standing in the kitchen, obviously highly amused at what she was beholding, and not about to do a thing to change it.

"Force, Ping! I think you might be in need of a stint at the droid cleaner's! If Aunt Aya could see you now! Just like...", another chuckle at whatever thought had entered her mind interrupted her speech, "Just like that one winter when I was five and decided to paint you all over with clan marks in yellow glitter colour. Aunt Aya nearly had a heart attack when she saw that particular artwork. Force, I haven't thought of that afternoon in years..."

Which at least explained what Senator Chuchi seemed to think was so funny about a droid looking like he'd been the life target of a child's prank. When she'd finally managed to calm down again, the senator turned to Ahsoka once more: "You know, when I invited you to use my kitchen for baking, I certainly didn't expect you to turn it into one of your battlefields." She grinned at her companion. "But it's really no problem at all. We'll clean up the worst mess of it later, and I'll ask the front desk to send up a droid to do the rest of the work. Nothing a bit of water and soap won't fix. And it definitely makes for an amusing sight, so – don't worry about it, Ahsoka. Okay?"

The Togruta smiled back at her, relieved that she hadn't misgauged the senator. "Okay. Thanks, senator."

"Riyo, please. Or Chuchi, if you prefer to use the official nickname. I think after you've seen me double over with laughter like that, you might as well call me by name rather than rank."

It wasn't an offer she was about to pass up on. Whenever did one gain a friend by dumping their kitchen into chaos, after all? "Alright – Riyo. Why is it an 'official nickname', though?"

The senator – Riyo – just shrugged noncommittally. "Seems a bit like a contradiction in terms, doesn't it? Back in school all the children used to call each other by clan name rather than given name – we were a rather aristocratic lot, and the boys felt important calling each other by their family's name. It was a bit like an implied rank. And the habit has stuck, at least in political circles. Most people call me by my clan name in public, and only use the given name in private, if at all. It's not a name a lot of people are allowed to use, unlike the clan name."

There was a story hidden there, she could feel it, but one Riyo seemed unwilling to share just now. Thus her reply was cheeky rather than questioning, though she tried to subtly express that she realised the gift Riyo had just given her by her offer and her explanation. "Should I feel honoured to be one of the illustrious few, then?"

Riyo caught her meaning, and smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe? It's not every day a great senator of the Galactic Republic permits you to use her first name, you know?" She nodded self-importantly to underline the irony hidden beneath her words.

Ahsoka grinned, then mirrored the gravely serious nod. "Indeed. It's also not every day that said senator has to explain to her friend how to crack an egg without making a mess of things."

The mock-serious expression on her friend's face slipped upon hearing her request. "What?" The word seemed more like a rather dumbfounded plea for confirmation than a real question, so Ahsoka just pointed to the table, where the five eggs she'd taken from the cooler half an eternity ago were still lying next to the bowl, mercifully intact and not subjected to Ping's untender mercies. "Oh."

Riyo shook herself, finally answering the unspoken question Ahsoka had passed her. "Of course. I mean, I will, of course, show you how to crack an egg. Just let me wash my hands and get a small dish, just in case I also mess up, and then we can..."

She started moving towards the sink, then turned back to the table, a perplexed expression on her face. Frowned. Strode over to where the tin of sugar was still standing in the middle of some small piles of white grains. Took another close look at it. Then licked the pad of her index finger, picked up a few grains with it, and tried the stuff, grimacing at the taste, while Ahsoka watched her with one amused and one rather apprehensive eye. "Riyo?"

"Ahem... Ahsoka?" The Pantoran turned back around to her, an amused twinkle lightening her eyes once more.

The padawan looked at her host rather dubiously. What now? "Yes?"

"Did you happen to taste the sugar before you put it into the bowl?"

"Uhm, no – that was Ping's job. The measuring, not the tasting. I just mixed it with the fat and the aromas." The smile on Riyo's face widened into an amused grin once more – which, in Ahsoka's experience so far, could only mean that they'd made another colossal mistake, after wrecking havoc on the kitchen and giving Ping a new paint job. Well, at least the senator seemed to take it in stride. "Why?"

"Care to try the cream for yourself?" She held out the mixing bowl in Ahsoka's direction, who warily, one eye at the senator's still smiling face, scraped a spatter off the rim and tasted the mixture.

"Yuck!" Riyo's good-natured laughter didn't really make her feel better as she tried to get the horrid tang off her tongue. "What happened?"

"Well... You used salt instead of sugar; if you'd handed that cake to your friend, I think she might have doubted if you really meant well, or were trying to poison her instead."

"Oh." Ahsoka's face fell once more. She really was no use baking a cake, was she? Not even testing whatever ingredient Ping just happened to set before her – a part of her felt she should have known better than that. "Sorry."

"Hey." Riyo set the bowl down on the table again and stepped up next to her, giving her a soft smile tinged with friendly reassurance. "No harm done – you couldn't have known. If anything, it's my fault – setting Ping loose in the kitchen with next to no training at all really wasn't one of my brightest ideas. I'll have to tell Miravel to improve his programming in that regard when she gets back – who knows whenever one of us might decide to bake a cream-filled chocolate cake with fruit sauce and four layers. It's probably best not to think about how many eggs Ping is likely to drop on that occasion. We'd really have to paint him yellow afterwards."

The droid gave an indignant beeping noise at the suggestion. Ahsoka scrutinised Riyo for a moment, trying to gauge her expression, her usual high spirits returning upon seeing the twinkle in her companion's eyes. "A cream-filled chocolate cake with four layers?", she asked in mock-skepticism, arms crossed in a show of sternness.

"And fruit! The fruit sauce is the important thing!"

Ahsoka sighed. "We'll need a lot of practice before we're able to do that."

"Then I guess we'd better get started on your marble cake, shouldn't we? One has to start somewhere, after all!" And with that, the senator simply went to a so far unopened cabinet door and put on an apron, throwing another one Ahsoka's way. _Talk about incongruencies..._

In the end, they did produce a presentable marble cake, discarding the ruined salt-margarine-mix and beginning from scratch. Riyo turned out to be much more proficient at baking than Ahsoka had expected, waving her surprised questions away with a remark on the absolutely inedible food at the university of Athena's main mess hall, and the need to do something relaxing on the evenings when Senate work happened to become too much to bear. Which, she freely admitted, had occurred quite a few times during the first few months of her term here on Coruscant, when the need for comfort food had been greater than usual. By now she had settled in rather well, gotten to know some of the senators, rekindled old friendships, and met new people. Like Ahsoka, for that matter. She'd grinned as she'd said that.

Thus, at the end of the day Ahsoka had left the senatorial living quarters not only with what smelled like a delicious marble cake in hand, but also a new friendship of her own in her heart. Which really wasn't the worst result of an afternoon spend warring with kitchen tools, nuna eggs and clumsy droids.

Not to mention that Barriss really was overjoyed upon receiving a real, home made cake for her lifeday. Even without the icing, which Ahsoka realised too late she and Riyo had forgotten about while talking about all manner of topics the day before. The cake tasted as good as it smelled, anyway – only eating four pieces of it each during their movie night might not have been the most prudent idea, after all.

But well – in the end, that's what lifedays and best friends were for, weren't they?

* * *

**Marble Cake**

1 Bundt cake form

300g butter or unsalted margarine

200g white sugar

3 drops of vanilla essence

6 drops of rum essence / 1 tablespoon of rum

1 pinch of salt

3 eggs

200g sour cream

400g all purpose flour

5 level teaspoons of baking soda

4 tablespoons of cocoa powder

2 tablespoons of milk

100g chopped chocolate (preferably at least 55% cocoa, but milk chocolate works, too)

150g chocolate for the icing

1. Fat the form. If you have a top-bottom-heated oven, preheat the oven to 180°C / 350°F.

2. Beat the butter with a blender with beaters until fluffy; add the essence and the salt and blend them into the butter; slowly add the sugar until you have a smooth cream.

3. Add the eggs one at a time and blend until you have a smooth mix again; then add the sour cream, and again blend the mixture.

4. Mix the flour and the baking soda; then fold the flour into the mix in three parts; blend until you've got a smooth dough. Fill about half of the dough evenly into the form.

5. Add the cocoa powder and the milk to the remaining half of the dough and blend the mixture. Then fold the chopped chocolate into the dough. Fill the dough into the form on top off the light half of the dough, then drag a fork through the two layers in a spiral movement to create a marble pattern. Put the form into the oven and bake for 60 minutes.

6. After taking the form from the oven, leave the cake in the form for ten minutes, then overturn the form and collapse the cake onto a plate. Let the cake cool for a few hours. Heat the chocolate in a bain-marie, then evenly distribute the melted chocolate on the cake and let it cool.

_Bon appetit!_

* * *

**Happy Birthday, Your Majesty!** I hope you enjoy your virtual marble cake, even though it's a day late! :-)

Well – so much for the first chapter of this series of one-shots related to cooking, baking, eating and Star Wars. For all further information, please see the last chapter of this FF – it'll always remain the same, and be updated each time a new chapter goes online, so if you have any questions, I'd like to ask you to check there first. Thanks!

This is going to be a series of unconnected one-shots set in the Star Wars universe; the only stipulation in terms of theme has already been mentioned above. Updates will be random, and slow, if I know myself at all. When I had the idea for this series, however, it was connected to the thought that maybe, if you people are interested in such a thing, this could turn into a joint effort, or an exchange of stories and recipes, at any rate. So please let me know if you're interested in contributing something, or just post it and let me know where to find it so I can add some new dishes to my recipe collection. :-D

**Last, but not least, the most important thing: **_**Ahem, ahem**_**. **_**General disclaimer:**_ I do not own nor gain anything (and most certainly no money) by the use of any recognizable material referred to in this FF. I have indicated my sources to the best of my knowledge in the last chapter of this FF; please consult the bibliography you find there and send me a PM if you think that anything is amiss with that list. If I forgot about anything, I will most certainly remedy that mistake as soon as possible; otherwise please trust me that the remaining ideas in this FF are entirely my own, whatever similarity to works unknown to me they might bear, and do me the same courtesy of indicating this FF in your sources in case you plan on using its content. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2 - Quid est amicitia? (Part 1)

**De Re Coquinaria Bellorum Stellarum - The Unofficial "Star Wars – The Clone Wars" Cookbook **

**Chapter 2: Quid est amicitia?**

… _Est enim amicitia nihil aliud nisi omnium divinarum humanarumque rerum cum benevolentia et caritate consensio; qua quidem haud scio an excepta sapientia nihil melius homini sit a dis immortalibus datum... (20). _

… _Principio qui potest esse vita 'vitalis', ut ait Ennius, quae non in amici mutua benevolentia conquiescit? Quid dulcius quam habere quocum omnia audeas sic loqui ut tecum? Qui esset tantus fructus in prosperis rebus, nisi haberes, qui illis aeque ac tu ipse gauderet? adversas vero ferre difficile esset sine eo qui illas gravius etiam quam tu ferret... (22)._

_(quoting Marci Tullii Ciceronis _Laelius – De amicitia_)_

* * *

The wine tasted bitter on her tongue as she took another deep swallow of the dark red liquid. Befitting the occasion, really, if you looked at it from the right perspective.

The rain continued to batter against the window panes in a steady staccato pattern, strangely calming despite all the noise and the occasional rumble echoing through the tall alleys. Nighttime Coruscant was darker today than it usually ever got, what with all the blinking neon signs, speeder lights and news screens illuminating the city even throughout the night. Right now, however, they were dampened and washed-out by the grey sleets of rain that had been hitting this part of the capital for hours, caused by some malfunction in the weather regulation system. Yet another detail rather befitting this one of all days; again, given the right perspective on things.

The depressive one, that was. Which she might as well call her own for tonight.

Riyo Chuchi was standing directly in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows separating her apartment's living room from the stormy Coruscant night, staring out into the rain like a soothsayer looking at the stars in ancient times. Searching for answers only to lose herself in the endless forces nature and science had unleashed upon the world. The hem of her elegant evening gown pooled around her naked feet, and her bare shoulders shivered slightly at the proximity of the cool window panes, feeling the unfriendly temperatures outside despite the regulated heating in the rooms of the senatorial suite.

She'd been standing there for hours now, only moving occasionally to take a sip of the expensive Pantoran wine in her glass, or to refill said glass from a decanter placed on the floor beside her. After more than two hours of silent reflection, it was nearly empty. If she wasn't careful, it might turn into the beginnings of an unhealthy liaison – but then again, a nightlong affair with alcohol was the least of her concerns for tonight.

_Here's to new beginnings and a new year... _

It might have been a toast, had it not been for the rather cynical tone of the thought. Loneliness made her shoulders sag and her eyes close in sadness for a moment. The Pantoran New Year's celebrations were normally a time reserved for family, to be spent at the hearths in the ancestral homes of Pantora, sharing stories and traditions, waiting for light to return after the long time of darkness. Instead, she was here on Coruscant, fulfilling her senatorial duties after having been inaugurated barely a month ago.

Not that she minded – she had no family to speak of, none deserving of that name at least, and her few friends were scattered all over the Galaxy due to their work and the war. She'd sent out her presents days ago, and so far hadn't felt like opening the gifts she'd received in return. There seemed to be no point in it without the people who'd given them to her here to watch, to explain their choice and delight in her joy. Her house on Pantora would have been just as lonely as these rooms in 500 Republica, and the thought of visiting her relatives had negated the prospect of seeing her estates again, even after such a long time spent working and preparing for her new office.

The land would be covered in snow by now, a pristine, white blanket of silence under a white sky, to meditate on while sitting in the gardens of the monastery. Abbess Chai must be overseeing the last preparations for the holy night this minute, yet another person she hadn't been able to talk to in too long a time, though she would have given a lot for her advice and her blessing for the new year. It would have been good to be there, to enjoy a few days of quiet reflection.

But that was an old dream, born from childhood memories of visiting her domain with her mentor, and not something worth contemplating now. Simply not feasible. Reality would have been different, politics and family obligations probably keeping her in Athena for the duration of her visit, or worse, her relatives insisting on accompanying her to the estate. It would have been a stressful and trying few days, much more so than remaining on Coruscant and working straight into the new year.

She sighed. The glass was empty again, and she bowed to refill it one more time. Another glass, and the decanter would be empty, too. Might as well drink it all tonight, appreciation of the quality be damned.

So she'd decided to stay and do something useful instead. She'd attended various balls and parties given by Pantoran dignitaries and business men throughout the evening, introducing herself as Pantora's new spokesperson in the Senate, trying to leave a good impression, to convince them that, although young, she was as capable and dedicated a politician as her predecessor had been. Not just a puppet of her uncle's, sent to further his agenda in the Galactic scheme of things, but the reigning Lady Chuchi, worthy of being her clan's, and her mother's, heiress.

Her own person – whoever that may be...

She took another sip of wine, not really tasting the rich, layered flavour of the beverage or feeling its smooth texture on her tongue, too lost in thought to do the aged drink the justice it was due.

The functions she'd gone to had had very little in common with the traditional Pantoran festivities upon this occasion. As was the norm on Coruscant, the gatherings had been expensive in manner and political in nature, an opportunity to show one's strength and observe one's opponents, to set traps and forge alliances. To see and be seen, as the Holonet channels catering to gossip and its followers so correctly put it. And thus, not really a terrain to test the waters of the political landscape in, but she'd known that beforehand, and prepared herself accordingly. Whatever her colleagues might believe, she was a professional in this field, and not about to embarrass herself or her planet by making stupid mistakes or falling prey to some political intrigue while out in public.

_Whether that is enough to leave a good impression is a different question altogether._ She sighed again, and stared out into the rain with bleary eyes.

Listening to their concerns about the war and its impact on the interests of their shared home planet, she had constantly felt the skeptical looks of all the politicians, business people and lobbyists upon seeing the small, slight woman in front of them, shy and quiet, nodding rather than speaking, and choosing her words carefully when she did. She'd sensed their whispers about her apparent weakness and inexperience once she'd turned her back, and couldn't help but wonder if she'd made the right choice in accepting the senatorial office. Maybe she'd miscalculated, after all, both the difficulty of navigating Coruscant's political climate and her own ability to gain the respect necessary for being good at this job. Had she been paranoid, she might have suspected her uncle of influencing public opinion against her, but she knew he thought her to be too inconsequential to do him any harm, her political success notwithstanding. In many ways, her position as senator of Pantora was beneath his notice, and whatever battles she might be winning or losing, the fault would be her own, of that she was certain.

Right now, it seemed like she was losing more than she was winning. Fights, respect and support all in one.

There was no question in her mind that this was what she wanted to do, to make a difference, to change the course of not only her planet's, but the Republic's fate. Yet the doubts and difficulties she'd been confronted with so far had her wondering whether she'd truly made the right decision, whether she was ready for this, strong enough, bold enough to face down politicians in an arena so much greater than the Pantoran assembly, when she was unable even to openly stand up to her uncle so far.

Even now, her tactic of opposition was one of avoidance and quiet defiance rather than open argument, for she knew that if she were to meet him face-to-face in a debate, she would fall into the role of the frightened child again, too struck by the harshness of his words and character to free herself from that spell. It was not the reaction of a seasoned politician, she knew that, nor was it worthy of her position as sovereign lady of a domain, but she'd never been able to stop herself from cowering when her uncle got into one of his choleric fits. He was just too loud, too hurtful, too unfair for her to not cave under his words when facing him directly.

Or indirectly, even.

She could still hear the denouncing words of his reply to her letter of apology in her head, formidable even in a holo. Without doubt the comm.-unit would have liked to melt into the floor while recording the message. The brunt of her uncle's disfavour made even machines quiver. Her uncle had been thorough in his belittlement, to say the least, letting her know exactly what he thought of the great-niece who had cordially explained to him that she'd be staying on Coruscant for the holiday, familiarising herself with her new office and attending the celebrations on the capital planet as representative of the Pantoran government, as part of her senatorial duties.

_Ungrateful child... Already arrogant after spending only a month on Coruscant... Blatant disregard for the traditions of your people... Insulting towards your ancestors' memory... Ignoring the duties of your position and title... Disrespectful of your relatives, who took you in as an orphan..._

Reflexively, her shoulders tensed as if to take the verbal blow to the face, sensing her uncle's presence even here, in the emptiness of her apartment. It was a testament to his power over her that even here, on a planet far away from her home, in a suite of rooms he'd never entered or seen, holding a position she'd reached through hard work and despite his misgivings, she was still unable to exorcise him from her thoughts. That probably said more about her capacity for this job – or lack thereof – than she cared to know. Maybe he was right, after all.

The parting words of her aunt seemed almost ironic now, unfounded praise in light of her own cowardice.

_Mother would have been proud, indeed..._

Her mother... Her mother, the late Lady Nyah Chuchi, out of who's shadow she seemed unable to step, however hard she might be trying. Infamous red hair, famed beauty and being one of the great leaders in the Pantoran civil war, a voice of peace amid all the violence of that time, the designated chairwoman of the national assembly until her untimely death, had made Nyah Chuchi a heroine of Pantoran history, a saint right up there next to Pandora herself, idolised, perfect, and perfectly out of her reach.

Brave. Strong. Determined. Someone she could never be.

Her aunt had been wrong. She'd known it at the time when she had first heard those words, and the knowledge had resided inside her ever since. She'd never live up to her mother's example. Nyah Chuchi would most certainly not have been proud of her daughter. Her cursed daughter, who had cost her mother her life.

Her fingers gripped the delicate stem of the glass harder, white knuckles shining through the skyblue skin as she drained the rest of her wine in one long swallow. She carefully set the glass down next to the decanter, then covered her eyes for a moment, trying to rub the bone-deep tiredness away.

It was getting late. The rain continued to hit the windows, a strangely constant rhythm to the steady pitter-patter of the droplets, the ebbs and flows of the storm, as wave after wave blurred the world outside to streaks of light and darkness. For a moment, she rested her elbows against the transparisteel panes, her forehead in her hands, closed her eyes and took the time to listen to the sound, letting nothing but rain and silence fill her ears and her thoughts. It really was a soothing sound, a musical murmur rather than just dissonant noise.

_Still_, she thought as she straightened, _might as well get some work done_.

It was only 3 o'clock in the morning, the night was still long, and she wasn't about to break the Pantoran tradition of staying awake until the first light of dawn, to observe and meditate on the break of a new day, a new year. It was an essential part of this holiday, of the myths and mysteries surrounding it, and not one she was about to simply skip in favour of feasting or sleeping.

That wasn't what the Pantoran New Year's festival was about, whatever all those Coruscanti party guests looking for a good time and a reason to splurge on splendor might think. The gifts, the fireworks, the celebrations, all those traditions were nothing but empty gestures, bits of magic and exotic customs, if you did not understand the hidden motive, the deeper meaning beneath it all. Thus, the absolute disregard payed by most the guests at the various functions to the true motivation to all these festivities had left her with very few illusions in terms of finding like-minded friends on this planet.

Just one more reason for her not to stay long on the last party after the mandatory fireworks and tinkling glasses had been over and done with. She didn't need another opportunity to schmooze and scheme that evening. It saddened her too much, and had put the loneliness this occasion held for her into even starker contrast. People might call her sentiments nothing more than overly delicate sensibilities, but she didn't feel like sacrificing another part of her cultural identity to politics, not on the one night on which she felt entitled to her time and privacy.

She'd always loved the New Year's celebrations, despite having always felt a little out of place in the circle of her uncle's family and relatives ever since she had been a small child. It had only gotten worse as she grew older and was able to notice all the small slights, deliberate or not, that made her an outsider to this family celebration, an intruder, a guest unwished for, tolerated only due to her position and influence. Still, the idea of a new year, a new beginning, a washing-away of all the darkness, flaws and faults of the past had taken her captive as soon as she'd first heard the story of Pandora's tears, and filled her with a longing that she hadn't understood for a long time. The idea of absolute compassion, of unquestioning forgiveness... It was like a promise, a hope for something she'd never experienced, but longed for all her life.

_Peace_, she now thought, _and love_.

The two traditional virtues associated with Pandora's Grace. There'd been little of either one in her life up until now – maybe she really was cursed, after all?

It hurt to think that way.

Sometimes she wished she was a Jedi – able to shrug off anything and everything by simply clearing her mind of all thoughts, all her troubles, problems and concerns. _There is no emotion, there is peace._ How well she remembered that maxim by her faraway mentor. And how dearly she wished she could live up to its ideal, learn the secret of that otherworldly calm in the face of adversities.

Or simply feel her mentor's presence around herself, enveloping her in a blanket of calm energy and sad, but kind warmth. She missed that aura, nearly as much as the real, soft embraces her teacher usually gave upon arriving or departing from Pantora back in the days of her childhood. A light, gentle hug, reassuring, but never caging, before setting her down on her own two feet again.

_Grace_.

She sighed again, and shook her head. Those were idle thoughts – not something she indulged in very often. They'd lead her nowhere but to more heartache and loneliness. Better to finally get some work done, futile though that might also be in the end.

Resolutely, she pushed herself up from where she'd been leaning against the window pane, staring out into the night without truly seeing anything, and turned towards her equally darkened sitting room. The silhouettes of her few pieces of standard issue furniture were just barely visible in the weak light permeating the room from outside, the doors leading to her private rooms and to the hallway illuminated by the faint glow given off by the fluorescent paint on the doorframes. The upper class equivalent of safety lights, only less intrusive; an elegant practicality when living the officialised life of a politician.

They were part of the great number of regulations dictating seemingly her every breath, whether on Coruscant or in Athena, and often made her wonder what distinguished her from the soldiers in the GAR, or the cleaning droids in the Senate, for that matter. In the end, they were all servants to the political system, only differentiated by their jobs and the hierarchy of command, like well-oiled cogs in a Galactic machine – some more important or influential than others, but none of them free to live and work at their own discretion.

_So much for the famed liberty of the Galactic Republic._

She really was in a cynical mood today, wasn't she?

Tonight the light sheen around her doors actually did make her life easier, though, allowing her to navigate her way through the sitting room, down the short corridor of her private quarters and into her office without tripping over carpets or bumping her toes on the edges of the settee. Her office, done in warm shades of burgundy and brown, was the only room she'd chosen to truly change to suit her tastes. It was where she spent most of her time, and the calm, familiar atmosphere of the room helped her concentrate on her work. Wooden shelves lined the two side walls of the room, filled with all manner of stuff, but mostly datacards pertaining to Senate work and background information for doing said work. There was a plush carpet on the floor, simply because she liked to take her shoes off and run about barefoot when nobody was around to care, and two chairs in front of an elaborate wooden desk, now covered by datapads, data cards, comm. devices and various sheaves of flimsi sheets.

Had the surface been visible, one would have seen the beautiful sheen some long-dead carpenter had elicited from the wood, but also the signs of wear it showed after being used by generations of clan ladies. She'd had the desk moved here from her ancestors' home, the estate she was only seldomly able to visit, both as a token from home and as a reminder of the great tradition she was standing in, and was determined to carry on honourably. An anchor for her to hold on to in the political storms sure to hit her, living as she was in the heart of the Galactic Republic.

The room was dark as well, the lighting given off by the news screen in the middle of the street barely enough to let her distinguish the outlines of the furniture. A tap on the console by the door – one she was somewhat childishly proud to have learned to manage by now, since it looked as complicated as the launch system on a star destroyer – cast everything in a dim, warm glow and activated the small lamp on her desk, giving her just enough light by which to do her reading.

Her shoulders slumped in relaxation, and she noticed for the first time the chill that had settled into her skin. Maybe standing at the window for hours in a flimsy evening gown hadn't been such a good idea, genetic adaption to cold temperatures notwithstanding. Even her feet were feeling cold by now, hidden as they were beneath the wide folds of her dress. A change of clothing might be in order before she tackled the mess that currently covered her desk. And she might as well remove her make-up and up-do, while she was at it.

Four steps and two doors later, she was staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, discompassionately appraising the face gazing back at her. Tired. Worn. Lines of tension on her forehead and around here eyes that were only partially caused by the elaborate way her hair had been coiled for this particular occasion. Pale and frail, her golden clan marks and eyes in stark contrast to her ice blue skin. No wonder the attending guests had thought so little of her capacity to handle this job – she certainly didn't look like much right now...

Shaking her head, she tried to chase the bitter thought away, helped along by the cold water splashing her face, washing away the layers of make-up, if not the tiredness. Afterwards, her hands expertly undid the official festival headpiece from her hair and, after placing it carefully in its box, pulled out all the pins keeping every rose-coloured strand exactly in its designated place. Combing through the long hair, she could feel the strain on her head easing for the first time in hours.

_Should have done this earlier. I'll probably have a bone-splitting headache tomorrow..._

For a moment her eyes closed in quiet contentment at the small pleasure of leaving her hair down like this. There were few opportunities in her life when she could allow herself this luxury – Pantoran codes of conduct demanded she wear a headpiece on official occasions, even precisely specifying which kind was to be used for every event. It was a relief to be able to ignore all of that for at least one evening, to possibly, finally have some peace.

In that exact moment the doorbell rang.

_Or not. _

* * *

**Rumtopf ('Rum Pot')**

_Attention: 1. This recipe uses a rather large amount of alcohol – please use it responsibly and drink responsibly! 2. This takes a few MONTHS to prepare, so if you want to try this out as a dessert for December, you'd better start about now, i.e. in May or June!_

1 large, glazed earthenware pot, preferably one that has a tight-closing lid

500g fresh strawberries

250g white or brown sugar

A few bottles of your preferred brand of rum

1. Remove the green as well as possible pressure marks etc. from the strawberries with a knife; wash the strawberries very carefully; cut large strawberries into bite-sized chunks; give the strawberries into the pot.

2. Add the sugar and mix the strawberries and the sugar well.

3. Douse the strawberries in rum so that the rum is standing ca. 2 centimeters above the strawberries in the pot (depending on the diameter of the pot, ca. 1 or 1,5 centimeters might also be enough). Put the lid onto the pot and keep the closed pot in a cool, dark place (for example a cellar or a storage room) for a month.

4. After a month (a week more or less doesn't make a difference), add another fresh fruit variety by repeating steps 1-3. I personally prefer red, tart fruit varieties (blueberries, dark cherries, plums, lots of different currants, raspberries), but you may also add apricots, pears, peaches – or whatever you prefer.

5. Keep the pot closed for about a month after you have added the last variety, which should be sometime in October. Thus, at the beginning of December the rum pot should be finished, and may be eaten as dessert with vanilla ice cream, added to hot, black tea, or simply drunk as a liqueur (though I'd be careful with the later – that's quite a large amount of rum and sugar, people!). It may also be used to enhance cakes or sauces, especially the sauces usually added to traditional winter roasts.

_Bon Appetit!_

* * *

I feel like I should add this after just handing you an alcohol-based recipe in a story that is technically rated T (and yes, the T is for now just because of this recipe – I'd like to be safe rather than sorry, really!): **Please use this recipe responsibly and drink responsibly! **You know your own age, and the laws which apply to drinking in whichever country you're living in – please abide by them! I won't be held accountable for anyone's foolishness other than mine own! That's really more than enough for me to deal with. :-)

As you might have guessed after reading the rather abrupt ending (or taking a look at the chapter title :-P), this is the first part of a tripartite one-shot that somehow kept getting longer and longer while I was writing, until I decided I couldn't possibly post it as one chapter. Thus, three chapters rather than one – with a bonus of three recipes instead of one. :-) This one-shot is my interpretation of Riyo Chuchi's character, and provides some background information to a story I'm working on – a bit of a sneak-peak into my mind, so to speak.

**Last, but not least, the most important thing: **_**Ahem, ahem**_**. **_**General disclaimer:**_ I do not own nor gain anything (and most certainly no money) by the use of any recognizable material referred to in this FF. I have indicated my sources to the best of my knowledge in the last chapter of this FF; please consult the bibliography you find there and send me a PM if you think that anything is amiss with that list. If I forgot about anything, I will most certainly remedy that mistake as soon as possible; otherwise please trust me that the remaining ideas in this FF are entirely my own, whatever similarity to works unknown to me they might bear, and do me the same courtesy of indicating this FF in your sources in case you plan on using its content. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3 - Quid est amicitia? (Part 2)

**De Re Coquinaria Bellorum Stellarum - The Unofficial "Star Wars – The Clone Wars" Cookbook **

**Chapter 2: Quid est amicitia?**

Riyo might have believed it to have been a hallucination, her ears playing tricks on her, had not the buzzer installed by the bathroom door, a sort of backup-doorbell present in all her rooms in case she didn't hear the original tone, also gone off at the same time. But there it was, the soft tinkling noise telling her she had a visitor.

An actual visitor.

Which was something of a rare occurrence as it was. But at 3 o'clock in the morning?

Another look into the mirror told her there were no smudges of make-up left in her face, and a practiced snatch to the left had her donning her everyday headpiece without even needing to check its fit. It was the least elaborate of the set, but it still weighed heavily on her tired head, used though she might be to its presence. But she kept her head held high, her posture straight, as befitting a noble lady of Pantora. Some things were just too ingrained to let go off, childhood training and last defenses against all those slights by her uncle kicking in, born with a polite smile and a cool mien as her soul curled in on itself. An automatic response to the unexpected, by now.

_So much for a peaceful night..._

The doorbell sounded again as she exited the bathroom, making her call "On my way" in the direction of the door before remembering that the senatorial suites were sound-proof inside and out.

Still, she wasn't so stupid as to simply open the door before knowing who was waiting outside, experience having taught her caution long ago. The troopers down in the lobby hadn't called ahead to announce a visitor, which was strange in and on itself. The person in front of the door had to be either another inhabitant of 500 Republica, or an intruder. Knowing her luck, it was probably the latter. Grabbing her comm.-link and a very small hand blaster from the elegant little bureau in her sitting room, she activated its connection to the speaker system. The camera above the door outside showed a seemingly small, slim figure with brown hair, holding what looked like a bulky package.

_Maybe it would be best to call in the guards... _But still – the figure looked familiar somehow...

"Yes, please? Who is it?" There was an edge to her voice she herself couldn't identify. Fear? No. Danger? Maybe. Resolution seemed fitting. _Now that would be a new one._ She grimaced slightly at the cynicism still present in her mental comments. _A depressive night, indeed_. At least her mind still had a sense of humor, if a dark one.

The figure outside looked up into the camera, giving her a friendly smile. "Senator Chuchi? It's Padmè Amidala. I know it's rather late, but I was assured you'd still be awake tonight. I came to bring you a New Year's gift." She raised the package slightly to the camera.

Oh.

Huh.

So much for that.

Senator Padmé Amidala Naberrie from Naboo. The former Queen Amidala of Naboo. One of the idols of her youth, ever since she'd managed to end the Trade Federation's blockade of her planet through clever political maneuvering, an uncommon readiness to search for unconventional solutions, and sheer force of will. One of the most influential politicians currently alive. Head of the Senate opposition to the war, to which she also belonged, and a known pacifist.

Brave. Strong. Determined. So much like her mother, so unlike herself.

Standing at her front door. With a New Year's gift. For her.

_So then... _She exhaled slowly.

"Is this a bad time, Senator Chuchi? I'm sorry if I interrupted you in something – I can come back in the morning if you'd like." Senator Amidala's tentative question made her realise she hadn't given an answer to the original statement. The wine must really be getting to her brain.

Oh. The wine. _Right_. Talk about first impressions...

"No, it's fine, Senator. I was simply – surprised. Just give me a minute to make myself presentable – I wouldn't want to scare you right out of the door again."

She could hear the laughter in the senator's answering "Of course" even as she turned to put the blaster into the bureau again and carry the glass and decanter into her office, nearly tripping over her discarded shoes on her way there.

_Right_. Maybe she should switch the lights on first next time.

_Shoes might be a good idea, too_, the darkly humorous voice in her head added sarcastically.

Nothing could be done about the lack of marks and make-up, but Senator Amidala hadn't sounded like she was here on official business, and anyway, the woman outside was said to be a rather forgiving person, for all she hadn't truly met her before, mandatory introductions aside. Surely someone like that would understand that she wasn't the perfectly coiffed and clad representative while sitting alone in her rooms sometime between midnight and morning? If only because she was also a female from a culture that put great emphasis on complicated, inconvenient hair styles?

Wouldn't she?

And why was she nervous about this, anyway? It was just a social visit, not a coronation ceremony. Not that she was much of an expert in either of those.

_You're babbling._

_Right_... _No time like the present_. Hitting the lighting panel so the sitting room was illuminated by a warm, yellow glow and pulling on the simple black high heels she'd doffed by the kitchen door when she'd come back hours ago, she finally made herself open the front door and, a sheepishly-friendly smile on her lips, face the human senator who was still waiting patiently, box-like package in hand.

"Please excuse the delay, Senator Amidala – I'm so sorry to keep you waiting so long. I wasn't expecting anyone tonight, and so everything was a little... chaotic."

Talk about sounding like a professional. What must the senator be thinking? She straightened her shoulders a bit more, the by now painful strain on her spine enhancing her concentration.

But her visitor's face simply lit up in an answering smile, eyes sparkling with mirth. "There's no need to apologise, Senator Chuchi. I know that problem. Believe me, you wouldn't want to see the state of my apartment right now. I only just got back two hours ago, and the luggage is still... – 'Work in progress' might be the best term for it."

The senator seemed to suppress a laugh as another thought hit her. "My mother used to ask whether she should consider my room a piece of modern art or a hazard zone, she couldn't tell the difference. I remember one time when she actually threatened to call in the hazmat team." For a second they both chuckled at the absurdity of the idea. The tension in her shoulders eased a little bit.

"Do you mind if I come in for a moment, Senator Chuchi? I think this parcel might need a bit of an explanation when you open it."

Force, where were her manners? "But of course – please, step inside." She opened the door wider. "I'm so very sorry, this is truly not like me – it's been a very long day."

The senator smiled politely, yet somehow managed to infuse the expression with sincere warmth. "Thanks. And don't worry – I understand completely. I almost forgot about the gift, there were so many things on my mind when I returned – otherwise I'd have called earlier. But then again, you look like you only just came home yourself, Senator. Are you sure this is a convenient time?"

She looked down at the long black-and-white gown she was wearing, elegant in its simplicity, covering all of her except her delicate shoulders, the light blue skin of which stood in stark contrast to the colourless dress. They weren't the richly embroidered traditional robes usually worn on this occasion, nothing but their colour relating them to those highly formalised, often antique pieces of clothing, but her designer had told her that going traditional was considered absolutely out-of-style on Coruscant these days, way too prudish and old-fashioned for a tolerant and sophisticated society such as this one. So she'd gone with his suggestion instead, and was still feeling the adverse effects of that choice in the chill that had settled into her bare shoulders and arms, for all that he had been right about Coruscanti fashion for this event.

Shaking off the memory, she brushed the senator's question aside with an inviting gesture of her hand.

"Absolutely sure – I've been back for hours, and just haven't gotten around to changing out of this dress so far." She shrugged, feeling somewhat self-conscious, but then noticed that the normally elegant woman in front of her was still in her travel clothes, as well. The small sign eased her mind somewhat as to the impression she might be giving just now. And the senator sounded nice enough, too.

She gestured towards the sitting area. "Please, have a seat. Can I offer you a drink, or some refreshments? I'm sure my droid could..."

"No, thank you, Senator Chuchi." Her guest moved gracefully towards the sofa, setting her package softly on her knees, as Riyo took a seat on the edge of the armchair to the right. "Actually, that's something to do with the gift I brought. I hope this isn't too presumptuous of me, but it's a tradition your predecessor and I started among ourselves, and I thought it might be nice to continue with it, now that you're here. A sort of more personal welcome to your senatorial rank. So... here you are. Happy New Year to you, Senator Chuchi." Her slim hands carefully handed the gift to Riyo, who took it with equal care, a bit surprised at the weight.

"And to you, too, Senator Amidala. Thank you." She looked up at her visitor somewhat perplexedly, unsure of what to say, trying to convey her earnest gratitude for the gesture, yet at the same time conscious of the fact that they were nearly strangers. How did one combine politeness, warmth and sincerity? It looked so natural on her companion's face, a soft crinkling around her eyes and mouth. In the end, she bowed slightly towards her guest, falling back on Pantoran codes of conduct to help her, as they so often did. "Thank you very much, Senator. This is truly unexpected – but it's a most welcome surprise. I guess I'm supposed to open this now?"

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble?" A customary reply. Senator Amidala actually looked a bit tense, as if she was as unsure of this situation as Riyo, or at least not quite certain of the gift she'd chosen. The apprehension wasn't obvious, probably not even noticeable for most people, but easily readable for someone who often felt high-strung on nervous tension.

"When has opening gifts ever been too much trouble?" She grinned slightly, glad that she wasn't the only one using politeness and protocol as a guard in this moment, and was relieved to see an answering smile at her levity.

What a strange situation, indeed.

The gift, once the shimmering flimsi paper fell away, turned out to be a beautiful wooden box, polished to a sheen and covered by layers of lacquer for protection, the lines in the wood broken only by the nearly invisible seam separating the lid from the actual box. Its size was perfect for storing datacards, pads or flimsi documents inside, and she already knew it would go into her office, both for practical use and as a reminder of her first New Year on Coruscant, and the unexpected turn the night had just taken.

Senator Amidala interrupted her before she could start saying her thanks again, leaning forward a bit in her seat, gesturing with her hands for emphasis. "The box is made of the wood of a tree on Naboo. It was manufactured by the Gungans, they have a special technique for making it waterproof. It's Representative Bings' part of the gift. He's still on Naboo, but I am to give you his sincere well-wishes for the New Year." A twinkle in her eyes, she added: "And yes, Senator, you are supposed to open that, too."

Riyo smiled a little at the memory of the bumbling, babbling, but very friendly Gungan Representative whom she'd seen in the Senate halls a few times. She'd make sure to personally thank him for the gift when she next met him – it really was a beautiful piece of work, very similar to some classic Pantoran carpenters' techniques. Maybe she could ask him in detail about how it was done, the carpenters in her domain might be interested in...

_Later_.

She truly ought to do the senator's gift the justice it deserved. Carefully, she lifted the lid of the box, smiling slightly at the soft, blue lining inside, before taking in the various contents. Two white mugs were easily identifiable, as were a few small glass bottles holding clear beverages of various colours, a glass tin holding caf beans, a smaller one filled with tea, and what looked like a cookie jar. She lifted each item out of the box to study them for a moment, noting the subtle design on the mugs, the exquisite quality of the food, and the alcoholic content of some of the bottles, various whiskeys and liquors. In the end, only a cylindrical metal container was left, about the size of the packs of caf and tea, unmarked, rustling slightly when she shook it. With a questioning look at her smiling guest, she opened the cylinder to find some strange, dark brown chips inside from which a sweet, rich aroma rose to her nostrils.

"It's chocolate."

Her confusion must have been apparent, for the senator once again started explaining her gift. "This might seem strange, but I thought I'd give you what I call my 'emergency survival kit for politics' – if only to prepare you for the catastrophes sure to come." Her eyes were twinkling again while she said it, indicating the humorous nature of the statement, for all its pragmatic accuracy.

"The caf is for early mornings and late night marathon sessions, obviously, and the tea is to help you calm down and keep your cool. As for the chocolate – it's the basis for hot chocolate, which serves either a soul-soother after dealing with the _real_ catastrophes, or a celebration drink for the great victories. Or simply for cold evenings like this one, or watching a holodrama with friends. The alcohol can be added on an as-needed basis – as I said, _emergency_ kit. I'd recommend the sweet drinks for the hot chocolate, and the dry ones for caf and tea. Plus cookies – cookies simply make everything better, in my experience."

The senator smiled somewhat self-deprecatingly, shrugging as if to make light of her own words and gift. "I'd have added something a bit more personal, like music or a good book for the quiet evenings, but – I simply do not know you that well yet, Senator Chuchi, though I'm hoping this will change over the course of the next few years. And since this ceremony seems to be so important to Pantorans, I didn't want to spoil your first New Year's on Coruscant by choosing the wrong gift, so..."

It was strange to see the normally determined senator so uncertain, as if afraid of giving offense.

As if a justification was needed for an act of unexpected friendliness. Maybe they had both been politicians for too long already, to always feel the need to defend themselves and their actions in every situation. Distrust was something of an occupational hazard in their line of work, life-saving though it often was when surrounded by layers and layers of presumptions, suppositions and allegations. And yet it was sad to see how not even small niceties could go unexplained in this trade.

"It's a very charming idea, and I thank you for sharing it with me. – I..." She herself was also searching for words, all of them seeming inadequate in view of the present she'd just been given – a truly fitting and interesting one, not to mention funny, for all that the senator seemed to think differently. A real gift, on a night when she hadn't expected to receive one anymore.

In the end, she did what every politician had learned never to do and simply settled for the unguarded truth. "Really, thank you very much. It's wonderful, Senator. A very thoughtful and personal gift. I truly appreciate your thoughtfulness, both in remembering our New Year's festival and in giving this to me. I only regret I do not have anything to give you in return – I just didn't expect anyone to bring me any gift this year, at all."

Senator Amidala smiled, both in relief and pleasure at finding her present so well-received. "There's no need, Senator Chuchi. I'm just glad you like it. I was somewhat worried it wouldn't suit your tastes, it's such a simple thing – and not everybody likes chocolate, after all."

It was her turn to smile and lift her shoulders somewhat self-consciously, feeling the ice melt away after all. "I've never had it before, to be honest. It sounds like a lovely drink, though, from the way you describe it – surely the right thing to have on a night like this one. Would you..." She halted for a minute, then simply decided not to allow herself time for second thoughts, or for her personal inner jester to find its voice again. "I mean, if it's not asking too much, would you mind showing me how to make this hot chocolate? You seem to like it, and this way, I can at least share my New Year's gift with you. If you've got the time, that is, and want to, and..."

The senator laughed lightly, relieved and amused all at once. "I'd love to – I'm something of a closet chocoholic, myself. We'll need to move to the kitchen for that, though. I hope you've got some milk around to heat?"

They both rose even as she nodded, Riyo picking up the supplies and moving towards the kitchen while her guest continued to talk, her voice, musical in relaxation, filling the silence usually permeating her rooms. "I've been waiting for an opportunity to get to know you a little better, to be honest, but everything has simply been so busy during the last two weeks, and then the crisis on Naboo threw everything into disarray even more."

Riyo shrugged the apology off with a dismissive gesture, moving to see if she could help her guest, though the former queen seemed to have the task well in hand. "Think nothing on it, Senator, please. Work has been piling up here, too, as you might easily imagine – settling into a new office isn't exactly the honour and the pleasure it's made out to be by the society holos. But speaking of Naboo – I hope your journey here went well? We were all shocked upon hearing what happened to you in that lab. If it hadn't been for the Jedi..."

"Don't remind me. I'm just glad it is all over and done, and with minimum casualties at that. I don't even want to imagine what might have happened if Master Skywalker hadn't..." The senator shook her head vigorously, as if to banish the memories from her mind, before turning to Riyo once more, looking her dead in the eyes: "By the way, I read about your work on reforming Pantora's long range emergency coverage these last two years; the model was adopted by the outlying stations on Naboo a few months ago. It was actually part of the reason why we learned about Dr. Vindi's machinations so fast. They're already reporting some improvements in general health care, as well, and are optimistic about further enhancing their reaction parameters. It's a very promising start so far, Senator Chuchi. My thanks to you on behalf of the Naboo. I hear you're working on exporting the technique to other planets, as well?"

Senator Amidala moved through her standard-issue kitchen with ease, placing a pot on the heater, measuring out two gallons of milk and setting them to boil. Standing beside her, Riyo nodded in sincere thanks for the compliment. The project was one of her most urgent interests, all the more so because of the war.

"I'm trying to convince other systems of the benefits of not only planetary aid systems and relay networks, but also an independent, interplanetary aid society – a neutral organisation created to give aid to civilians in emergency situations, be it in a war like the one we're fighting now, or after natural disasters, accidents – all manner of catastrophes, really. Its stations would be based on planets all throughout the galaxy, and whichever station happened to be close enough could react to the problem immediately, without having to deal with conflicting interagency or interplanetary authorities first.

It would be even better if it could be created as an organisation totally independent from planetary governments, or even the senate, serving the people, and no one else. That way political schemes could be prevented from toying with lives, or so I hope. But it's early days yet – the GAS is still in its foundation process, and hasn't been involved in the war for long. That conflict will be our make-or-break moment, really – so far, I'm not sure which it's going to be. Why – are you interested in helping?"

Her guest nodded, not taking her eyes off the nearly boiling milk. "I might be. You'll have to tell me more about your aid society one of these days – it sounds like one of the few causes in this war truly worth supporting."

"Thanks. I'm glad you think so, Senator – I still hope that some good might come off even such a terrible conflict, if only as a side-effect." She crossed her arms, feeling the mantle of seriousness settle on her shoulders once more. Work never ceased, it seemed. "We'll have to discuss it in earnest one of these days."

"But maybe not tonight, am I right?" Senator Amidala shot her a quick smile, apparently having noticed her mood change. Something inside her loosened at seeing her veiled exhaustion mirrored on her companion's face. "Even important business like that should be allowed to rest at 3 o'clock in the morning on a holiday."

With a swift twist of her wrist, the senator added the amount of chocolate she'd measured out earlier to the boiling milk, shutting off the stove and stirring vigorously. "Could you hand me those mugs, please? And one of the liquors – whichever you'd like."

Riyo shook her head gracefully, humor colouring her voice despite the lonely memories of the last few hours – she herself couldn't tell how much of it was feigned, and how much might be genuine amusement at herself and the irony of the situation. The thought made her smile even wider. "Oh, no more alcohol for me tonight, please! I already had enough wine and ambrosia on the various festivities I attended tonight – any more and you'll have to enjoy the hot chocolate on your own, for I'll be asleep where I stand! Which one would you prefer for yourself?"

Senator Amidala good-naturedly declined: "Thanks, but no thanks, Senator Chuchi. I won't deprive you of your stores just after handing them to you. Plus, my mother used to tell me that drinking alone was sure to make you depressive, and I don't need to have a psychological check-up on top of everything else."

_Now that is a piece of wisdom the truth of which I can attest to... _The thought was rueful, yet somehow less serious than it probably would have been only half an hour ago. Apparently the senator's mother was right: Being in company did change one's outlook on things, indeed. She watched as the former queen poured chocolate into mugs, handing her one of them and taking up the other one herself.

"I guess we'll both be responsible, then – if only so as not to fall asleep behind our desks tomorrow. And please, call me Riyo. Shall we go back to the sitting room?"

The human woman nodded in acceptance, answering both her offer and her question. Warmth coloured her voice again, telling Riyo she'd made the right decision. "Padmé, then, please. And I'll be right behind you."

Back in their seats, their fingers curled around the warm mugs and their postures much more open and relaxed, they kept their silence for a moment, both appreciating the hot beverage in their hands and waiting for the liquid to cool to drinking temperature. Only the rain falling outside the windows was audible once more, permeating the silence, filling the room with its soft background noise.

Carefully, Riyo took a first sip of the still steaming beverage, trying not to burn her tongue as she swallowed the hot, sweet drink. The chocolate tasted like nothing she'd ever had before, warm and spicy, with a slightly nutsy taste to it, yet at the same time a flavor all of its own. There were probably some spices added to the mixture – chili, if her tongue wasn't deceiving her, and cinnamon – and the underlying sweetness of milk and meli coated the inside of her mouth, but the full, layered flavor of the chocolate was only enhanced by that, as the beverage ran down her throat and warmed her inside out. She hummed lightly in appreciation and took another sip.

"Do you like it?", Padmé asked from where she was leaning in the curve of the settee, softly stirring the teaspoon in her mug to make the drink cool faster.

Glancing at the senator across the rim of her mug, Riyo smiled broadly, even as she took another sip: "I think I might join you in your addiction to this – I'll probably have to ask you to tell me where you get that chocolate sooner rather than later."

Padmé's musical laugh filled the room once more, even as she used both her hands to hold the mug straight: "That won't be a problem – I usually place an order every other month, so just tell me when you run out, and I'll include you in the next delivery. I'm glad you like it – as I said, not everyone does. It's too sweet for some, and a lot of beings prefer to drink it cold, actually. Though how that is supposed to make it better, I'll never understand."

"Well, then it's a good thing I'm from Pantora: We have a great appreciation for both warmth and sweetness – they are what gets us through the long winter months. New Year's Day really wouldn't be the same without at least having hot cakes for breakfast in the morning, even though we all know how terribly unhealthy that is. So, a very good choice indeed, Padmé – thank you again."

"My pleasure, Riyo. Speaking of New Year's traditions, I was under the impression that the celebrations are very much a family holiday on Pantora. At least, that's what your predecessor told me – he always flew home to see his extended family and friends on these days, and I had to send his gift to Pantora or hand it to him when he got back. So – how come you're here rather than there? Or was he just talking about about a family tradition of his?" She leaned forward with interest, even as Riyo set down her mug, a closed expression on her face.

"Senator Chechun is quite right – as you might know, the turning of the year is the most sacred Pantoran holiday, one we do traditionally celebrate it in the circle of our family. Tradition, as a norm, is very important to my people, and the ones surrounding our oldest celebrations most especially so. They are wonderful customs, what with all the old stories and symbols involved, and I'd love to be on Pantora for it all right now, but... Well... I was only inaugurated a few months ago, and I'm still settling into my new office, acclimatising myself to Coruscant and its politics, as it is, so... Going on holiday so soon after coming here, even if it's only for a few days, didn't feel like the responsible thing to do. And since I don't have a lot of family on Pantora, it wasn't too much of a sacrifice, really."

She shrugged, unwilling and unsure of how to explain her real reasons for staying in the capital. How her loneliness would only have been more pronounced on her home planet, how every moment spent in her uncle's house felt like being in a cage again – how she longed to be with her friends on her estates for these days, but had decided to stay on Coruscant, because a futile dream didn't hurt so much if you were far away from its possible realisation rather than up close.

"I see. I'm sorry, Riyo – I heard about your parents' deaths. I should have remembered"

"It's alright – I've never met them, it was a long time ago, and everyone else is very far away right now, so..." Another shrug, for there really wasn't much to be said about this, in her opinion. Nothing she hadn't thought of too often already, anyway. "It's not a great sacrifice, as I said."

Padmé nodded in understanding, finally taking a first sip of her hot chocolate, and waited for a few more swallows before continuing. "I hope I'm not prying into something personal here, Riyo, but I seem to remember... Aren't you related to Chairman Cho, Pantora's political leader, though?"

Riyo could feel her own expression darken almost automatically, the polite facade returning even as her eyes shifted from her guest's face to the dark, rain-covered windows behind the settee. "He is my great-uncle by marriage – he and his wife, my mother's aunt, took me in after my mother's death. I grew up in his household in Athena."

After a moment she made herself turn her gaze back to Padmé, remembering how uncomfortable she'd always felt when she was being deliberately ignored by her uncle. "And yes, you're right – if I were on Pantora right now, I would probably be celebrating with their family, even though I'm not a member of clan Cho. They're my closest relatives, and they cordially invite me to join them each year. Regretfully, I was unable to oblige their friendliness this time." The coolness in her voice was audible even to herself, an unconscious slight she hoped the senator wouldn't misunderstand as being directed at her.

Instead of looking offended, Padmé laughed slightly, though she wasn't sure at what until the senator made her reply, an understanding smile on her lips. "If you worded that sentence any more formally, you could replace C-3PO as my major domus. I take it your uncle wasn't too happy about you declining to attend? He certainly seems like the kind to be rather unforgiving on such occasions."

Apparently she wasn't the only one able to read words, faces and postures with ease. She probably should have guessed that Padmé was just as apt to note a change in demeanor as she herself. And she probably shouldn't have said that. Even though it hadn't been a lie, and she couldn't bring herself to regret it, especially since she felt like she could trust the senator with the difficulties of her extended relations. Still, family obligation demanded she voice her critique diplomatically, despite her inability to banish the emotional frost from her answer.

"Their invitation is always given most sincerely, as is their regret at my absence. It's just that my uncle can be rather... uncompromising in voicing his displeasure. His words tend to be somewhat... direct on those occasions."

"Scathing, you mean? I've met the Chairman, Riyo – he's difficult to deal with even on a good day. And I say that after having met him only twice – I cannot imagine what it must be like to see him on a daily basis, not to mention live with him!" There was a dry honesty in her guest's answer, the blatant, dangerous harshness of truth rather than the usual diplomatic lies. Had she truly been set on defending her uncle, that statement would probably have ruined her relationship to the senator of Naboo for good. As it were, she found it to be a refreshing change.

Still... Honour and duty first.

"Chairman Cho is a good man. He's doing what he thinks is the best for his people, for Pantora. I cannot fault him for that, especially not since he's successfully presided over the national assembly for nearly as long as I'm alive."

"Politicians usually do what they think is the best for their people – and themselves, too, coincidentally. Question is – does he really know what is the best for Pantora? Has he ever asked the citizens?" Padmé sounded equal parts amused and passionate as she said this, despite not having raised or otherwise changed her voice. As if only her sarcastic humor was keeping her anger in check – whether at the political system, certain individuals or Chairman Cho in particular, she wasn't sure.

It sounded too much like her own thoughts upon the matter, too much like her reasons for actually entering the political field in the first place. People usually assumed she was trying to follow her mother's footsteps, to carve out a place of her own in the history of Pantora, and while she wasn't about to deny that as a possibility, it had never been her main incentive for choosing politics as her field of interest. She'd never wanted any power – her responsibilities as sovereign Lady of Clan Chuchi would have kept her content and busy for the rest of her life. But she'd learned early on what consequences abuse of power might effect under extreme circumstances – and remembering those lessons, she'd made it her aim to limit the powers of others, to be a voice of reason in the greater and smaller struggles for power she'd been observing ever since she'd been a young child. To keep the peace her mother had fought so hard to create.

So far, she hadn't met many politicians who understood that aim of hers, and even less who might actually share it. It seemed like Padmé Amidala, one of the most influential senators in the Galaxy, might truly be one of them. She couldn't help but smile a little at the thought, at the hope blossoming in her heart upon hearing those words.

But her respect for her uncle and the care he'd given her as a child demanded she be fair about this.

"The national assembly has reinstated him four times so far. That would seem like proof of his capacity for leadership, wouldn't it?"

"The ability to lead is not the same as the wisdom to know which course to take. And we both know that it's also not the only criterion for electing a chair. Not even an important one, to be exact, especially on a planet like Pantora. Ancestry, and favours, and a balance of power between the reigning families are much more significant, not to mention tradition – you said so yourself only minutes ago." Harsh as it sounded, her companion made her statement with a smile on her face – a point of debate, rather than an attack, voiced in a discussion rather than an argument. And it wasn't as if what she was saying was unfounded.

"You're not wrong. I do, however, believe that, were he to lead Pantora into a direction detrimental to our future, the assembly would find in itself the decisiveness to stop him. Even if that meant voting him out of office."

"Is that fact or hope speaking?" - Hope, most certainly; like any good politician, the senator had managed to see through her facade and to unerringly exploit the weak point of her argumentation. Not a good thing, normally.

Tonight, though... She could feel her defenses crumbling – yet she couldn't honestly say she minded. Duty and disposition at war, as the philosophers said. Luckily, she wasn't one of them – she may choose disposition, if so inclined. "Right now, I'd say that depends on just how great a mistake we're talking about."

"So he is capable of making mistakes, after all?" There was a twinkle in Padmé's eyes as she let her rhetorical trap snap shut.

She smiled. So much for trying to adhere to family obligations, however unfounded they might be. Duty and disposition, indeed. "I'm sure you know I wouldn't be part of the assembly's opposition if I didn't think he was in error on quite a few things. But be that as it may, he is my uncle, and as such I owe him loyalty to a certain degree, if only by defending him in public, whether he knows or appreciates it or not. It's a question of duty."

"Spoken like a true Pantoran." A musical laugh, genuine and amused, lightened the atmosphere for a moment before the former queen turned serious again. "But I shouldn't laugh. I have a great respect for your sense of duty, Riyo. It's not something one finds very often in these times and mores. However undeserving it might be in the case of your uncle."

There obviously wasn't much love lost between Senator Amidala and her uncle, the Chairman. Having done her duty, she wasn't about to dissuade her, family obligations be damned, and so she just shrugged noncommittally, not one to contradict the truth of a statement when it was staring into her face in the proof of her own person.

Her own person... Her smile widened into a grin at the thought. It was a start, at least...

* * *

**Hot Chocolate**

200g dark chocolate (at least 55%, for my taste)

200ml milk (or more, depending on your preferences)

2 table spoons of amaretto (if you like, and are old enough!)

chili, pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg

_Version 1_ (if you'd like to keep to the recipe given above, i.e. have a rather thick, but drinkable hot chocolate)

1. Melt the chocolate in a bain-marie; stir with a whisk every few minutes until the chocolate has melted to liquid. At the same time, heat the milk in a separate pot; take care to take the skin which might develop during the heating process off the milk.

2. Slowly add the boiling milk to the hot chocolate. Stir carefully until you have a smooth liquid.

3. Add amaretto, chili, pepper, cinnamon and/or nutmeg as you like.

_Version 2 _(if you'd like to add more milk to dilute the chocolate, i.e. have something more akin to cocoa)

1. Cut / Break the chocolate into smaller pieces or use grated chocolate.

2. Heat the milk (however much you think you'll need); take care to take the skin which might develop during the heating process off the milk. Add the chocolate to the milk and stir until all the chocolate has melted and you have a smooth liquid.

3. Add amaretto, chili, pepper, cinnamon and/or nutmeg as you like.

_Bon Appetit!_

* * *

There's obviously very little alcohol in this recipe, and what little is in there mostly (but not totally) evaporates due to the heat of the drink, but still, just so you cannot say I didn't warn you: **Please use this recipe responsibly and drink responsibly! **

This is the first time I tried to write Padmé so far – somehow, the conversation feels a bit off to me. What do you think – is that just my perfectionism nagging me, or a valid concern? Be that as it may, this is how I imagine Riyo's and Padmé's friendship starts; as for all the small topics hit upon in this chapter, as I said, this is a background story to a larger project I'm still tending to in the back of my brain, and I'll need those details one day. I hope it wasn't too boring or confusing to read. The last part of the chapter will be a bit more elegant, I hope.

**Last, but not least, the most important thing: **_**Ahem, ahem**_**. **_**General disclaimer:**_ I do not own nor gain anything (and most certainly no money) by the use of any recognizable material referred to in this FF. I have indicated my sources to the best of my knowledge in the last chapter of this FF; please consult the bibliography you find there and send me a PM if you think that anything is amiss with that list. If I forgot about anything, I will most certainly remedy that mistake as soon as possible; otherwise please trust me that the remaining ideas in this FF are entirely my own, whatever similarity to works unknown to me they might bear, and do me the same courtesy of indicating this FF in your sources in case you plan on using its content. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4 - Ad Fontes

**De Re Coquinaria Bellorum Stellarum - The Unofficial 'Star Wars The Clone Wars' Cookbook**

**Addendum: Ad Fontes...**

Barriss Offee was very sure that her head was about to implode within the next minute or two, at least if the ache in her frontal lobes was anything to go by. The veins in her temples were pulsing in time with what had to be a detonator cleverly hidden somewhere in the back of her head, and her whole skull felt as if it was crammed full of explosives rather than brain matter. With a groan, she carefully lowered her forehead onto her folded arms, which were resting on the desk top in front of her, trying to ease some of the tension in her head. Unfortunately, there was way too much coffee in her system for that to work. It had to be the coffee that was giving her that headache, rather than the fact that she'd been working on this damn paper for twenty-four hours straight, having noticed too late that her deadline would end a day sooner rather than later. Definitely. She'd never drink that much of the damn beverage in one day again.

Never, ever, again.

Or at least not until she had to tackle something like this again.

But at least she was done now – at three o'clock in the morning, but who cared? There it was. Her documentation of sources. Finished, complete, one item after the other, listed alphabetically according to the official standard published by Coruscant Central. Five hours before the end of her deadline. Praised be the Force.

Finally relaxing into her rather unconventional pose, the Jedi Padawan and GAR Commander fell into half an hour of well-deserved sleep. Extended marathon-termpaper-writing-sessions in the middle of the night would do that to a person...

* * *

Since a chapter should be a real chapter, I decided to give you some insight into Barriss' (and, coincidentally, my) mind after writing termpapers against the clock. It's really not pretty.

Technically speaking, I've violated my own rules for this series by not adding a recipe, but if you really want to have it, here it is: **How to make a pot of strong coffee!** Give two heaped teaspoons of coffee powder (whichever you prefer; I'd use a rather bitter blend for this one ;-D) per cup into the coffee maker, add another two heaped teaspoons for the pot, then give the required amount of water into the coffee maker and start the machine. Tadaa!

Speaking of which, allow me to reiterate what I already mentioned in my author's note to the first chapter: I'm trying to create a series of unconnected one-shots on the topic of cooking, baking, and eating, each consisting of a small story and a recipe, set in the Star Wars universe. Those are the only conditions (except that the Rating won't exceed T), other than that I'll vary as I like. It would be great if a few people would join in and add to the collection, thereby making this, if not a galaxy-wide, then at least maybe a planet-wide project. Thus, if you're interested in contributing something, please send me a PM, or just publish something and let me know. :-)

* * *

On to the real purpose of this final chapter... My Documentation of Sources - one of the few things I actually take quite seriously. I really can't afford the lawsuits.

**Ahem, ahem. General Disclaimer:** I do not own nor gain anything (and most certainly no money) by the use of any recognizable material referred to in this FF. I have indicated my sources to the best of my knowledge **below**; please consult the bibliography and send me a PM if you think that anything is amiss with that list. If I forgot about anything, I will most certainly remedy that mistake as soon as possible; otherwise please trust me that the remaining ideas in this FF are entirely my own, whatever similarity to works unknown to me they might bear, and do me the same courtesy of indicating this FF in your sources in case you plan on using its content. Thanks!

* * *

**Documentation of Sources**

_General Sources_

Marcus Gavius Apicius._ De re coquinaria_. (I had to get the idea of the title from somewhere, didn't I?)

Lucas, George et al. _Star Wars, Episode I – VI_. Lucasfilm (subsidiary of The Walt Disney Company since 2012), 1977-2005.

Lucas, George et al. _Star Wars – The Clone Wars (movie)_. Lucasfilm (subsidiary of The Walt Disney Company since 2012), 2008.

Lucas, George and Dave Filoni et al. _Star Wars – The Clone Wars (TV series; seasons I – VI; 121 episodes)_. Lucasfilm (subsidiary of The Walt Disney Company since 2012), 2008-2014.

_Specific Sources applying to Chapter 1_

Bancroft, Tony and Barry Cook (dir.). _Mulan_. Walt Disney Pictures, 1998. (- The droid's name is an allusion to that particular film.)

Tousdale, Gary and Kirk Wise (dir.). _Atlantis: The Lost Empire_. Walt Disney Pictures, 2001. (Another hommage in a name – guess which!)

_Specific Sources applying to Chapter 2.1, 2.2 and 2.3_

Carey, Jaqueline. _Kushiel's Legacy_. Vol. 1-3. New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 2001-2003. Print. (Not for the reasons you might think – these books are what actually got me to thinking about religion and tradition, especially about concepts of guilt and forgiveness, among other things.)

"Pandora". _de. wikipedia. org. _Last edited: May 4th 2014. Wikipedia Foundation. Web. Last visited: May 24th 2014.

"Guanyin". _en . wikipedia . org_. Last edited: May 14th 2014. Wikipedia Foundation. Web. Last visited: May 24th 2014.

"Pandora". _en. wikipedia. org_. Last edited: May 19th 2014. Wikipedia Foundation. Web. Last visited: May 24th 2014.

Hearn, Lian. _Der Clan der Otori_. Vol. 1-5. Transl. Irmela Brender. Hamburg: Carlsen Verlag, 2003-2011. Print. (My ideas for the clans, the domains, the line of inheritance, and a lot of Pantoran culture in general are greatly influenced by these books.)

Queen. _Smile_. Chapter 12. Last edited: May 17th 2013. Fanfiction. Web. Last visited: May 25th 2014. (Thanks for allowing me to use the idea of Padmé as a closet chocoholic. If any of you are ever in need of a story to cheer you up, take a look at that collection! :-D)

reulte._ Scars - Slick's Squad (Chopper's Story)_. Last edited: March 10th 2013. Fanfiction. Web. Last visited: May 25th 2014. (If you know the story, you'll recognize the similarities between some aspects of my portrayal of Riyo and hers. Again, if you are ever in search of a really good read, this is a good start! :-D)

Marcus Tullius Cicero. _Laelius – De amicitia_. Ed. J.G.F. Powell. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2006. Print.

_Specific Sources applying to the Last Chapter_

Modern Language Association. _MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers_. 6th ed. New York: The Modern Language Association of America, 2003. Print. (- The catechism of every student of English, which I try to follow quite closely, but still take the liberty to interpret at will in some points.)


End file.
